


Bullet The Blue Sky

by the_technicolor_whiscash



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Angst, Dreaming, Explosions, Fluff, Gunshots, Kissing, M/M, Repressed Feelings, Violence, some action scenes thrown in there, what did you expect this is Burn Notice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 09:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11354181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_technicolor_whiscash/pseuds/the_technicolor_whiscash
Summary: Michael Westen. Ex-spy. Doing odd jobs for every kind of people. He has to deal with a new handler, and come to terms with the fact that he can't work through his problems alone.





	Bullet The Blue Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I named it after a U2 song again, but it matches it so well so I just went with it.

Michael was, quite literally, stuck between a rock and a hard place. His back was pressed into a short retaining wall made of stone, while bullets ricocheted around him. His hand gripped his own weapon, but it was useless. He only had one bullet left. He’d either have to make it count, or die trying. 

Suddenly, an explosion happened from behind him. The sounds of people screaming and debris falling through the air rained around him, and he hesitantly looked up over the wall. 

What he saw was carnage. Those who hadn't survived the blast lifelessly littered the ground, and those who had survived were screaming in agony. The house the wall surrounded now did not exist, and what remained of the structure was thrown in every direction, some pieces still on fire. 

This wasn't supposed to happen. He was simply supposed to go in, steal a microchip from a computer within the house, and leave. But he didn't know that there were people watching the house. Nor that his “handlers” would be willing to do anything to prevent their enemies from regaining that chip. It was likely some military technology. Not something you'd want to take your eye off of. But was it worth the body count?

He hadn't told Sam or Fi much about the job in the first place. His new handlers, a group of trigger-happy gun-obsessed sociopaths, didn't like him talking about his new job to his friends. So far, Sam and Fi had managed to avoid getting captured or attacked by his handlers, which was a relief to Michael. But he knew it couldn’t last forever. One day or another, they wouldn't be on their guard, and he wouldn't be there to protect them, and then something would happen. He tried not to think about the consequences. As a spy, you have to compartmentalize. You don't want to get attached to people, because sooner or later, they’ll be gone. 

At the sound of a car approaching, Michael quickly stood and held out his weapon. But it was only his handlers. And, as much as he would have liked to, if he shot one of them, the others would come running and take him down in a second. He’d just have to watch and wait for the right moment to strike. But that moment didn't seem to be anytime soon. 

He slid his gun back into his belt and smiled at the man who exited the car. He was a man only known to him as “the Muscle,” and muscle he was. The man was ripped, even more than Michael was, and that’s saying something. He must have been on steroids or some other performance-enhancing drug to get that physique. 

“Muscle! Good to see you! Was that blast your doing?” Michael asked, delicately concealing the fact that he was scared beyond his wits. 

“Maybe it was. You got the chip?”

“Oh, you're all business and no small talk. Tell me a little about yourself! Got any kids? A wife? Husband? I don't judge.”

“I've got a boss who wants this chip. Hand it over.”

“Fine. You're never any fun.” He pulled the chip from his pocket and placed it into Muscle’s outstretched hand. “What’s on that? Military secrets? I bet it's that.”

“It's none of your business. Now get in the truck.” 

“Someone’s in a bad mood today.” He muttered, before hopping into the car. Sometimes, it was best not to argue. 

His handlers dropped him off just outside his loft, which admittedly was convenient, though it didn't help him that they knew where he lived. Once inside, he did a sweep for bugs, just to make sure they hadn't pulled a fast one on him. Content that his place was as safe as it could be, he grabbed a yogurt and sat down at his kitchen island. It wasn't really a kitchen island, since he didn't really have a kitchen outside of a fridge and a sink, but it was a tall table with chairs, and that had to count for something. 

After about a half an hour, he heard a knock on the door, and Sam announcing himself. Of course Sam was there. He was always there when Michael needed him. 

“Mikey!” Sam said, smiling and holding up a six pack. “Thought you could use a little afternoon pick me up. Man, you look like shit.”

“Yeah, well, my new handlers almost blew me up today.” 

“Yikes. Guess you really do need that beer.”

Michael took one out of the six pack and popped it open. “Thanks, Sam.”

“So how are you? I mean, outside of almost getting blown up.” 

“I've had better days.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Deep down, he did, but he knew it wouldn't do him any good burdening Sam with his problems. It would make him more of a target. “Nah. It's nothing.”

“Really? Cause it sounds like it's more than nothing. I haven't heard you sound this down since… well, I think it was that time when your mother made you go to family counseling.”

“I’m fine, Sam. Or I will be, as soon as I can shake these new handlers.”

“You want some help with that? I know you said you wanted to do it on your own, but Fi and I could really help you.”

“I can handle it. I've got a few leads.” He was lying through his teeth. He had nothing, and he knew that Sam knew it. 

“Alright. But just know that I'm here for you. And Fi’s here for you too, though she might not overtly say it.”

“Thank you, Sam.” 

They fell into silence. It wasn't awkward, necessarily, but it wasn't pleasant either. Michael didn't like hiding things from Sam, nor did he like not asking him for help, but there was nothing he could say that wouldn't put a big target on Sam’s back. 

“So, uh,” Sam said, clearly uncomfortable with the silence himself. “My new girl and I had a falling out.”

“Really. I thought you two were doing well.” 

“Well, we were, until I let it slip my hilariously long losing streak with women.” 

“And that turned her away?”

“Well, no, what turned her away was the bullet holes in her car. I really need to stop taking borrowed cars on jobs.” 

“So what’d she say?”

“Told me I was crazy, probably involved with the mob, and threw my clothes out her window.”

“Oh. So not as bad as it could've been.”

“Compared to the last one, no. I think this lifestyle really gets in the way of one’s romantic life. Except maybe with you and Fi of course. You two make it work. I…I’m happy for you.”

Michael couldn't quite tell the tone of Sam’s voice. Was it jealousy? Contempt? Or something else entirely? “Actually, we sort of broke it off too. We like each other, sure, but not on that level.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

“It was a mutual decision. Besides, I think she's the one with the best chance of landing a solid date right now.”

“Right. Sure. The gun runner can land a date, but I can't.” 

“I'm sure you’ll find someone, Sam. Someone who can handle your high-octane lifestyle.”

“What about you? You ever think about finding someone, settling down, maybe even having a real house?”

“I can't afford to think like that. Not now, at least, what with so many people after me.”

“Man’s gotta have hope, Mikey.”

For a moment, Michael looked at him. Really looked at him. And he felt a twang of something in his stomach. Something he hadn’t felt in a while. Something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in even longer. Something he had tried to avoid admitting to himself, that occurred whenever he looked at, or talked to, or even thought about Sam. Something he couldn't afford to admit to himself, especially not now. 

He snapped back into reality. He couldn't think about something like that. Not something that would cause so much risk to Sam. He couldn't live with himself if his own emotions were the cause of something happening to him. And so he decided that he had to distract himself. 

“I've got some work I have to do.” Michael said, standing up and heading to his workbench. “Don't feel like you have to stay.” 

“I'll stay and work on this six pack. With two of us, it'll take half the time to finish.”

Michael had secretly hoped that Sam would leave, but now he didn't really have a choice. He leaned over his workbench and began to construct something. It wasn't really anything, and in fact he didn't even know what he was building until it was almost finished. About an hour after he had started, he realized he had constructed a watch. How that happened, he didn't quite know. 

“Hey, that's not half bad. Slap a Rolex logo to it, and we could make some bucks selling that.”

Michael smirked. “Sure.” 

“So that's your work you had to do, huh? Listen, Mikey, if you didn't want to talk to me, you could've just said. I would've left and stayed with your mom.”

“It's not that, Sam, it's just…”

“No, I know, you're focused on your new job, new handlers, yadda yadda. I get it.”

“I just need to focus right now, Sam.”

“Sure you do. But let me tell you something. You change when you focus on something like ‘new handlers.’ You become someone you're not. You turn away your friends, and even your family. And that's not healthy.”

Michael turned to Sam, trying hard to keep his steely expression. “Well, I’m sorry. But I assure you, it's for your own protection.” 

“I don't need protecting, and you know that. I'm just as smart as you in the violence department. I might not be as fast as I used to be, but I can still pack a good punch.”

“I don't want to run the risk of you getting hurt. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Mike, you've got two real friends and your mother. Both Fi and I can defend ourselves, and say what you will, but your mother is a fighter. Have you seen her with that shotgun?”

“Well, hang out with her, then. Being around me just puts a target on your back.”

Sam put his hands on Michael’s shoulders. “Mike, you're not understanding what I'm saying. I'm saying, you can't work alone on this, or on anything. You need your friends and family, now more than ever. Sure it might put a target on our backs, but there was a target there anyway. I’ve got connections all over the map, who could turn my back on me in a second, and Fi literally sells guns for a living. Trust me, Mike. You can't do this alone.” 

“Please, Sam. Just… just let it go. These people have more assets than you could ever imagine. One day you could be sipping a mojito on the beach, the next you could be found dead in an alley. I can't… I can't lose you.”

To his surprise, instead of pulling away, Sam wrapped his arms around Michael, embracing him in a hug. “I’m not going anywhere, big guy. Don't you worry.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Michael returned the hug. He pressed his nose deep into the crook of Sam’s neck, and breathed in the smell of beer and cheap cologne. Though part of him wanted to pull away, another part of him wanted to pull Sam tighter, to refuse to let him go until something tore them apart. 

“You ok, Mikey?” Sam asked.

“I’m not. I’m really not. But I can't allow my problems to get in the way of things.”

“That's why you've got to tell people about them. Whether it's me, or Fi, or your mother, you can't keep this stuff bottled up. It'll kill you faster than any bullet could.”

“I just don't want to get any of you involved.” 

“I know that. But like it or not, we’re going to find a way to get involved one way or another. So do you wanna tell me what’s wrong? Or do you just wanna keep smelling my cologne.” 

“I don’t even know where to start. I've got so many problems on my back, and no solutions for them.”

“Well, that’s a start. Tell me more about that.”

“I don't have any leads on my new handlers. I lied to you about that.” 

“I know, Mikey. You're a terrible liar when you're sad. Especially to me.”

“I’m just lost. What do I do?”

“Maybe you should try working at it from a different perspective. Have me or Fi look into some different angles, see what we can find.”

“Not Fi. I don't want her involved in this.” 

“Still trying to impress her? Play the stoic hero character who doesn't need help?”

“No. Nothing I ever do will impress her. I just don't want her at risk too. It's bad enough telling you all of this. Plus, if she finds out I don't have anything on this, she’ll do whatever she can to butt in to help.”

“That's because she’s your friend, Mike. Friends help each other when they need help. I know that might be a little hard for you to grasp, since you're our resident spy and all, but your friends, your true friends, will always have your back.”

“Please don't tell her about it. Just give me this one thing and don't tell her.”

“Of course. If that's what you want, I won't tell her.”

“Thank you, Sam.” He didn't realize that he had been grasping the fabric of Sam’s shirt tightly. He released it. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to let go, you know.” Sam's voice broke into a whisper. “You can hold onto me for as long as you need. I’m here for you.”

That twinge again. Michael’s stomach was doing cartwheels, and his heart was racing faster than it ever had been. He tried to deny it. He had to. It was the only way to keep Sam from-

His thoughts were interrupted by Sam’s lips pressed against his. His self-doubt was swamped by the new emotion of surprise, immediately followed by pleasure. And the kiss ended far too soon. Sam pulled away, leaving Michael yearning for more. 

“I’m sorry. I don't know why I did that.” Sam muttered, blushing and running a hand through his hair. “I just… if I was reading the mood wrong…”

“You weren't reading it wrong.” Michael said, standing up to meet Sam's eyes. “Not wrong at all.”

“Thank god. I've never kissed a guy before.”

“Did you think it would be any different from kissing a woman?”

“No, it's just, well, usually men are more private about their feelings. Especially you. I've never met anyone as private as you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don't be. It's just who you are.”

“Well, I’m not being private now.” He gently pressed a kiss to Sam’s lips. In a hoarse whisper, he muttered, “I’m in love with you, Sam. I have been for a while now. I just didn't want to tell you since I feared it would make you a bigger target.”

“I’m in love with you too, Mikey. You never showed any interest, so I tried to distract myself from you. But I think that's part of the reason why my relationships never lasted. Because I've been in love with you the whole time. And you know I don't care about being a target. I would die if it meant I could love you.”

“Don't say that, Sam. I don't want to think about you dying.”

“Alright.” 

Instead of responding, Michael grasped Sam’s collar and pulled him into another kiss. This kiss was more aggressive, more passionate. He could feel Sam’s hands travelling up and down his back, pulling them even closer together. His cheeks rubbed against the rough stubble on Sam’s face, creating an interesting but not unlikable sensation. There was the slight taste of alcohol on Sam’s tongue, making the kiss ever more intoxicating. 

When Michael finally pulled away to breathe, he pressed his forehead to Sam’s. “You don’t know… how long I've wanted to do that.”

“You taste like yogurt.”

“Are you really surprised?”

“No, actually, for once I’m not.” He placed a kiss on Michael’s nose. “I liked it.” 

“The kiss or the yogurt?” 

“Both.” 

\-------------

 

The next morning, Michael awoke with a jolt. The first thing he realized was that Sam was not lying in bed next to him. Then that he was fully clothed, and was still wearing the shirt he was wearing when the building blew up behind him. And then that it had all been a dream. Yes, much to his dismay he had dreamt up spending the night with Sam. Though part of him was glad that it took Sam out of danger, another part of him felt empty. Though it had just been a dream, finally being able to tell his true feelings to Sam was… well, it was better than he had felt in ages. But it never really happened. 

After a moment of contemplation, he slid out of bed and threw a new shirt on. He picked up his phone off of his bedside table and absentmindedly clicked through the messages. Some from Fi, asking if she could borrow his car for something unspecified (he hadn't answered quick enough so she just stole his keys. Not the first time), and a few from his mom, who wanted to know if he would be there for dinner tonight. His eyes settled on a message from Sam. It was from last night, a few hours after the explosion. He wanted to know how Michael was doing, and whether he was ok. 

Without realizing it, he had typed in Sam’s number and called him. At this point, he didn't care what happened. He just wanted to hear Sam’s voice, to know that everything was going to be alright. 

“Heya, Mikey.” Sam’s voice spoke after the first ring. “What's up?”

“Sorry I didn't see your text last night. I crashed right after I got home.”

“Don't worry. I had Fi check on you while she stole your keys. Said you sleep like a rock.”

“I've been trying to work on that.”

“Mikey, I know it's surprising, but humans need sleep to survive.”

“I know that, Sam.”

“You doing alright? You don't sound too great.”

“I’m fine.” He swallowed, pondering what to say next. “You wanna meet somewhere for breakfast?”

“Well, sure. Where'd you have in mind?”

“That little diner a few streets over.” 

“Sounds good. And you know, Mike?”

“What, Sam?”

“I’m glad you haven't turned your friends away. I know what's been happening lately has put a lot of pressure on you, but sometimes even the Six Million Dollar Man needs someone he can rely on.”

“I'm glad about that too. See you soon.” 

He hung up, before taking a deep breath and attempting to level his heart rate. He couldn't let this happen every time he talked to Sam. He shouldn't let his emotions get in the way of his goals. And yet, the emotions seemed to be winning. Which wasn't wise for a spy, even an ex-spy. 

He slipped his shoes on and walked to the diner. Sam had somehow gotten there before him, and had gotten them a table. A coffee awaited him. 

“Morning, Mike.” Sam said. “Gee, you really look like shit.”

“Thanks for the observation. Almost getting blown up will do that to you.”

“Yeah, tell me about that. So you were on a job, and it turned sour?”

“My new handlers were willing to blow me up if it meant that the thing I was stealing stayed out of the hands of their enemies.”

“Jesus, that's bad news. You need to get away from them as fast as you can.”

“I know. I'm trying.” 

“Got any leads?”

He thought about lying, but realized it was futile. What good would it do him, keeping it to himself? “No. I've tried everything, but whoever they are, they keep their secrets locked down tight. All I know is that they have me steal military intel more than anything else.”

Sam looked surprised at Michael’s sudden openness. “Well, that's a start. I mean, what kind of groups want military intel? Terrorists? Foreign governments? Black market dealers who think they can sell it?”

“They're definitely not terrorists. That much I can tell. They're organized. Belligerent. Compartmentalized. I think it's probably some private organization, but no one hears more than they have to.”

“So not unlike Carla and her goons.”

“Exactly. I haven't even gotten close to questioning anybody about it.”

“Maybe you don't have to. You could have Fi or me follow one of em, try to see where they're holed up or something.”

Michael shook his head. “Not Fi. I don't want her getting into this.” 

“Really? May I ask why?”

“I just… it's dangerous enough telling you all this. I don't want anyone else to be at risk.” 

“So you don't mind putting your best friend into danger, but when it comes to your trigger-happy girlfriend…”

“Ex-girlfriend. We broke it off. It was a mutual decision.”

“Oh. I'm sorry, Mike. I didn’t know.” 

“And it's not that I don't mind putting you in danger. It's just that I… I trust you, Sam. It's taken me a while to see that, but I trust you.” 

“Buddy, you don't know how much that means to me. And listen, I would follow you into the fires of hell if I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“I know you would, Sam. Thank you.” 

“Is there something on your mind? You seem distracted, somehow.”

Michael flashed back to his dream from the night before. His mouth turned dry, and he swallowed anxiously. “It's nothing. Just some personal issues I'm dealing with.” 

Sam put a hand on Mike’s shoulder, causing Mike’s stomach to do somersaults. “You know you can tell me anything. I won't tell anyone. Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be good to get it off your back.”

“I… if I told you, you wouldn't believe me.”

“I'm sure I would. If you don't want to tell me, I'll respect that, but it does kind of go against everything we just talked about.”

“I know. It's just…” He stood up. “I need some air.”

Before Sam could respond, Mike was out the door, breathing heavily. He couldn't do this. He just couldn't. He had been groomed not to show any emotions, and he couldn't just spill them all out like this. He walked across the street to the beach and stood in the sand, trying to use the change in atmosphere to lower his heart rate. 

Suddenly, he heard a car approach on the street. Turning around, he realized it was his handlers. Of course it was. Leave it to them to appear at the worst possible moment. 

As Mike got into the car, he briefly heard Sam yelling his name. But it was too late. He was being shepherded off to some new assignment, leaving poor Sam to wonder where his friend had gone. He wondered what Sam might be feeling. Betrayal? That was the most likely answer. 

\------------

His handlers were having him raid a warehouse to find yet another microchip, likely with more military intelligence on it. Not as easy as it sounds, when the warehouse is surrounded by guards. Hopefully this time, they wouldn't blow up the warehouse until Michael was a good distance away. 

He studied the patterns of the guards. He decided on entering the warehouse through a window, which was the least guarded way of entering. After slipping past the guards, he pried open the window and slid in, making sure to close the window behind him. He ended up behind a large pile of cardboard boxes, making for fairly good cover. Peering around the side, he noticed two more guards, one on the first floor and one on a second floor. The second floor was where the chip would be, in some sort of a separate room. 

At this point, he had two options. Take down the guards, or continue trying to sneak past without alerting anyone. 

As the guards seemed to be moving at random, he decided that the safest route would be to climb up along some pipes on the wall, jump to the second floor, and then make his way to the room where the chip was held. Getting to the wall was simple, since there were boxes everywhere, but climbing it was a different story. Even with his strength, it would take some serious effort to make it up there. He began the uncomfortably slow process of climbing, careful not to make any noises or sudden movements which would alert the guards. At the top, he then realized that the jump to the second floor was further than he had calculated. When he landed, he would surely make a sound. But he had no other choice. So he leapt, breaking into a roll as he came into contact with the grate metal floor. The sound of his thud and subsequent grunt alerted the guard, who began to walk towards him. But by that point he was on the move again, slipping into the back room. The chip was in a safe, which had only one dial and he quickly cracked. He slipped the chip into his pocket, before assessing the way out. At this point, he could probably just start running out the front door and they wouldn't be able to react quickly enough to shoot him. But he didn't want to take any chances. 

He couldn't leave by sliding down the pipes, since the guard was more observant of that area now, so he decided to climb down the side of the metal stairs. It would be risky, and take a lot of effort, but less risky than any other option. He made his way to the edge of the second floor, before sliding off and hanging by his fingers. He then began the even slower process of working his way down the stairs, taking care to prevent any sound from escaping him. When he was about a foot from the ground, he let go, and slipped under the stairs. The guard on the first floor had not moved, and seemed to be deeply invested in whatever he was listening to on his headphones, so as long as he stayed out of that guard’s line of sight, he would be fine. 

But then, he noticed something. Something beeping faintly behind him, interrupting the silence of the warehouse. It was pushed back against the wall and hidden behind boxes. Enough C4 to destroy a city block, and a timer that read 1:00. Not one hour. One minute. He had one minute to get his ass out of there, before he was blown to high hell. He could try to disarm it, but with one minute left, he might as well have just shot himself in the head. At this point, he didn't care whether the guard saw him. He booked it towards the window, throwing it open and jumping out. The guards outside, blissfully unaware of the danger within, noticed Michael, but before they could aim their guns at him, he was gone, into the woods surrounding the warehouse. He ran, ran until he felt his muscles burn and his lungs ache for air. And once he was a good distance away, he heard it. The deafening boom of an explosion. He forced himself to turn around, and watch as fire and debris fell to the ground. 

At that moment, he realized a few things. His handlers had no regard for his life. Whatever he was doing for them, it was futile, because someday he wouldn't make it out in time. And he had no idea where in Miami he was. It was clearly around the edges of the city, judging by the woods, but outside of that he was completely lost. 

He decided to make his way back to the road. And who was waiting for him there, but The Muscle, standing next to the open car. 

“Get in.” 

“And what happens if I don't?”

“Your brother wakes up tomorrow with no hands.” 

Well, that was nothing if not persuasive. He slid into the car without another word, and handed the chip to the Muscle. Though he was silent, the rest of the ride Michael pondered just how many ways he could kill his new handlers. 

They dropped him off back at his loft. Without even sweeping for bugs, he fell face-first onto his bed and sighed. Nothing like almost getting blown up to make you exhausted. 

His phone rang. It was Sam. Of course it was. But it was just who he needed to hear. 

“Mike! Are you ok? Please tell me you're ok.” Sam said frantically. 

“I'm fine, Sam.”

“Good, because when you just disappeared like that, and then I saw on the news about the warehouse explosion…”

“I'm sorry I worried you. But I'm fine.”

“Was it your handlers again?”

“Yes. And they threatened my family if I didn't listen to them.”

“Damn. What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. I really don't.” The wall he had built around his emotions shattered, and his voice cracked. “They have no regard for my life. If I stop helping them, they’ll kill my family. If I keep helping them, they'll kill me.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out. We can bug their car or something.”

“It's no use. Whoever they are, they know not to use the same car for transport as they do for their conversations. They're ghosts, Sam.”

“Everybody leaves a trail, whether they know it or not. We’ll find it.” 

Michael took a few deep breaths. Finally, he decided to throw caution into the wind. “Can you come over? I just… I don't want to be alone right now.”

“Of course I can. I'll be right there. Hang tight, ok?”

A few minutes after they had hung up, Michael heard a knock on the door. “Mike? I'm here.” 

Michael unlocked the door and opened it, revealing Sam. Michael only wondered how terrible he himself looked, since he hadn't changed out of the clothes he was almost blown up in. 

“How're you doing, Mikey?” Sam asked as Mike closed the door behind him. 

“I’m lost, Sam. I don't know what to do.” 

“I’d say, for now, just keep watching and waiting. Eventually they're going to slip up, and you're going to be there when they do.”

“What if I don't make it out in time? What if one day, I slip up, and end up blown to smithereens?”

“That won't happen. You're too good.”

“I can't think like that, Sam. There's going to come a day when I'm not going to be good enough. And at this rate it looks like that's going to happen sooner rather than later.”

“Don't talk like that. I don't even want to think about what life would be like without you. It's hard enough, when you run off on these jobs with your handler, and I don't know whether or not you’ll make it back.” 

“Life without me would probably be a lot safer for you.”

“I don't care about that. I care about you, Mike.” 

At that moment, Michael realized how close they were standing. He could smell Sam’s cologne, and see every little dot of stubble on his face. “Sam…”

“You mean the world to me, Mike. I can't stand to see you like this.”

“I… I love you, Sam. Romantically. Sexually.” 

“Wow. I really thought I’d be the first one to say that.” 

“Kiss me, Sam. Please.”

Immediately, Sam pressed his lips to Mike’s. Mike wrapped his arms around Sam, and pulled him closer, carding his fingers through his hair. This kiss was different from every kiss he had dreamt about. This was real, and he could feel it, and see it, and taste it. He hungrily kissed Sam, releasing a passion which had been pent up for too long. 

By the time they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily. Michael was pressed against Sam, and could feel his muscles underneath his shirt. 

“I love you.” Mike whispered, as he laid his head on Sam’s shoulder. “I love you.” 

“And I love you. More than anything. I would do anything for you.” 

“Just hold me. That's all I want.”

**Author's Note:**

> There was actually a bit more to this that I cut out because it was totally unimportant to the plot (and a smut scene but unless people ask for it I'm not gonna post it). Also if there's any mistakes, that's because A) I'm only on season three of the show, and B) I wrote most of this at three in the morning.


End file.
